


Our Touch Will Fill Every Hour

by DemonSquipster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Murder, Boys Kissing, Dark Past, Death Wish, Drabble Collection, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Late Night Conversations, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, No Plot/Plotless, Past Brainwashing, Post-Episode: s13e17 The Thing, Post-Episode: s13e18 Bring 'em Back Alive, Pre-Canon, References to Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet References
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-26 04:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14394054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonSquipster/pseuds/DemonSquipster
Summary: Fluff-filled angsty Ketchvies drabbles that I've written, relating mostly to Ketch and Mick's Kendricks years. They're not in any sort of order, but will reference canon-related things.I tried with a summary, my apologies if it's not good.





	1. The Shadows Bring The Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is from The Guilty Ones by Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater. 
> 
> I don't really have much of an explanation for these, but expect there to be more. (I have some interesting ideas; too bad I can never get around to fulfilling them.) 
> 
> Chapter title is from Those You've Known, also by Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater.

He couldn’t help but to think of last night. That was… well, he’d never done _that_ before. It was strange, but not bad.

 

Mick stood under the hot water in one of the Kendricks showers. He didn’t have any classes until later, so he was fine for now. With people still either asleep or already in a class, it was silent aside from the water.

 

His mind lingered on Arthur Ketch. That boy might have just been one of his biggest mistakes, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret anything that had and might happen between them.

 

His lower half ached. Rough hands and desperate hip motions had contributed to that.

 

He’d never been pushed so far. It was exhilarating. He’d never experienced anything like it. Of course, it had to have been with Ketch. _His first time._ He sighed. Mick shut off the water and decided he could deal with this all later. Not now. He could go back to sleep and put it off until later.

 

———————

 

Mick drew random swirls on the edge of his assignment with his chewed-on pen; only the cap was chewed on, due to the fact that he’d watched some kid earlier in the year have pen ink explode in his mouth from chewing on it.

 

He felt Ketch kick him softly to get his attention. “Yes?” He looked up, getting pulled out of his daydreams. “Mister Davies, pick up where I just left off.”

 

Mick glanced down at his book. “Uh- litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto vi superum, saevae memorem lunonis ob iram, multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem-“

 

He was stopped when his teacher cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mister Davies. It would do you good to at least look like you’re paying attention.” He heard a few laughs come from his classmates, but couldn’t care to acknowledge it.

 

It was gratifying to see his teacher smack one of the kids in the back of the head for making comments.

 

He looked over at Ketch who gave him a small smile in return.

 

Mick just wanted the day to be over so he could share another night on the roof with Ketch.

 

———————

 

“Until tomorrow, my sweet Romeo. Parting is such sweet sorrow,” Ketch grinned against Mick’s lips.

 

“Does that make you Juliet?” There was a teasing tone in Mick’s voice, and Ketch mumbled something in French that Mick couldn’t quite pick up before leaving a kiss on Mick’s lips.

 

“The Capulets would definitely be Legacies, whereas the Montagues would be, well, whatever the hell you are.”

 

Mick knew it was just a snarky remark not made to truly hurt him, but he couldn’t help but feel a small sting from the words.

 

He must have done something wrong because Ketch’s expression turned to concern. “I- I didn’t mean to hurt you, I-“ Mick shook his head. “You’re an idiot,” he grinned.

 

He had to stand slightly on the balls of his feet to reach Ketch’s mouth, but he left a small kiss before starting to walk away.

 

Everything in him buzzed with joy. He couldn’t think straight around Ketch. He bit back a soft laugh as he walked back to his dorm.

 

———————

 

They rarely got to leave Kendricks, so this was a change.

 

Unfortunately, rain poured down on them. Ketch had a clear unamused look on his face. He had a hood on, but whatever hair wasn’t kept under that lied soaked on his forehead. Mick could see that it was starting to reach his eyes now. It was strange to see his hair that long.

 

They walked together, surrounded by classmates. Mick and Ketch were close enough to touch but held back. They weren’t that stupid.

 

They were stupid enough to test to see how far they could go with this though. Their hands dangled by their sides and kept brushing against each other. At some point, Ketch wrapped a finger around Mick’s thumb.

 

Their entire relationship together was based on playing with fire like this. They just had to hope that neither of them would get burned in the process.

 

———————

 

Mick could not help but be utterly confused at the emotions filling his mind whenever he looked at Ketch or heard his voice.

 

Living on the streets, hoping perhaps he might eat that day… he always thought he would die that way. That day, he stole that one coin, and everything changed.

 

He’d lost his parents at a young age. Did he miss them? Yes. Had he mourned them? Of course. Would he give up the life he had now to get them back? Just a year prior, he would have immediately replied yes. Yet now, he found himself saying no.

 

What changed? That night on the roof, when Mick had moved around on the ledge with such carelessness. He had been playing with his own life, and yet Ketch was the one who appeared like his own guardian angel to coax him back onto the roof.

 

He’d been so sure of everything before the accident. Just like how he was so sure that he was going to end everything that night. He couldn’t have expected what was going to happen.

 

Mick didn’t remember falling in love. He did remember, however, realizing how much it would hurt if he lost Ketch.

 

He thought about how that roof basically became a part of their relationship. Anything important that had happened between them happened on that roof. Mick could barely think about what would happen after graduation.

 

It hurt, that Ketch was a year older than Mick. It had never really affected them since many of the classes weren’t divided by year, but rather by efficiency. It was affected them now, since Mick would have to spend a hellish year at Kendricks, alone. Ketch would move on, and it worried Mick.

 

He wouldn’t move on, would he? Fall in love with someone else while Mick stayed behind? After Ketch graduated, many things would change for Mick. No more nightly roof visits. No more teasing Ketch during classes. No more hearing his voice - hearing his _laugh_. Not for a year or so, at least.

 

Was that why Mick had given himself up like that to Ketch? He’d felt a moment of desperation when they were talking about what field Ketch would go into. It wasn’t Ketch’s choice to graduate anyways. He didn’t want to leave Mick there any more than Mick wanted to stay there.

 

Mick let out a shaky breath and clutched on tighter to Ketch. He felt a warm hand moving gently in circles on his back. For now, he could relax in Ketch’s arms. It was only a year, and then, they could be free. _Together_. Only them. He liked the sound of that.


	2. The Sorrows Your Heart's Known

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is (again) from Those You've Known by Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater. 
> 
> A note @ Summer: KETCHVIES =/= ROOF OKAY STOP  
> PS: It wasn't Ketch's choice to gr
> 
> And now, a collection of my thoughts/oops is this a writing process:  
> It's surprisingly difficult to write good Ketchvies when My Father's A Homo is playing  
> I think at this point, it's not them just at Kendricks oops  
> @me: It's easier to write Ketchvies faster when you're not writing about condom balloons  
> NO HELP THIS IS A PANIC AND THERE ARE NO DISCOS AROUND I LOST ALMOST THE ENTIRETY OF SECTION THREE I WAS ACTUALLY PROUD OF THAT TOO  
> It's rewritten, rushed, and bad :'((((((  
> Oh no it's even angstier than the first version  
> It's also shorter >:'(((((((((((  
> I CAN'T  
> JUST GET THIS CHAPTER OUT OF MY SIGHT  
> E N JO Y

Ketch held Mick a little tighter, dreading the thought that if he let go, Mick might leave. He didn’t deserve someone as great as Mick, he thought. Everyone else had left him. Why not Mick too? The other foot was bound to drop, but… no. If Mick intended to leave him, he would have done it already.

Mick had stuck around, and Ketch was too grateful to put that into words (not that he’d ever been good at putting his emotions into words). “Thank you, Mick,” he finally decided to say. “For what?” Ketch met Mick’s eyes, full of warmth and affection. “For… staying.” Mick brought his forehead to rest against Ketch’s; their little way of saying ‘I won’t leave’. No matter how many times Mick said he wouldn’t leave (at this point, he was starting to sound like a broken record), Ketch couldn’t seem to let himself believe that sometimes. He could believe Mick though, right? In all of their years together, Mick had never tried to hurt him. “How could I have left? I would have dragged my ass right back, you know that.”

Ketch chuckled against Mick’s lips. “Of course I do."

\------

The room was pitch black, aside from the orangish-yellow hue pouring in through the window. The only sounds of life were their quiet exhales, and it was like that for a while. Mick wasn’t even sure if he was fully awake or not, or if he was starting to slip into a strange dream. If it had been a dream, at least it would have been better than the usual.

“Mick? Could you do me a favour?” He sat up slightly, looking in Ketch’s general direction. “Yeah, of course.” He felt Ketch’s weight shift, and they both sat up fully. Ketch’s hand, which had been loosely wrapped around Mick’s, tightened; as if to remind either Mick that Ketch was still there, or to remind himself that Mick was still there. Either way, it was reassuring to at least one of them. “When I die,” he hesitated, uncertainty crossing his voice. “I would like you to do something for me.”

Mick had several questions passing through his mind, but he withheld them for the time being. “Do what you will with the body, but the heart,” he paused, taking Mick’s hand and placing it over his chest, “I would like you to display somewhere where the British Men of Letters can see.”

Mick brought his free hand up to Ketch’s face and placed the back of his hand on Ketch’s forehead. “Arthur, are you feeling okay? I-” Ketch laughed a little, but it wasn’t his laugh. It was the one that fit too well with his psychotic facade, and Mick hated it. He hated hearing it. He hated the whole facade. The laugh sent chills down Mick’s spine, and he nearly pulled back. Ketch's other hand brought Mick's hand back down to the bed, wrapping around it slightly. “I don’t know why I asked, it’s incredibly stupid-” Mick put a finger to his lips to quiet him. “No, it’s not. I just… if you could explain, maybe I’d understand it a little better.” He dropped his hand and found Ketch’s free one.

“You deserve an explanation, right. I want my heart to be displayed to show that I’m not heartless. Before you say anything, I know that it’s just a phrase, and it’s not literal, but… nevermind, you should understand.” Mick did. He’d heard several people - Toni especially - call Ketch heartless, and if it stung him, he had no idea about how Ketch felt. “I get it. I mean, if you would like me to do that, I suppose I can.”

Ketch nodded, or so Mick assumed and stood up. He walked over by the window, and as Mick saw Ketch’s bare form, he suddenly felt vulnerable and uncomfortable with his own nudity.

The orangish colour surrounded the boy’s figure, and memories of the sunset came flooding back to Mick.

_Those icy eyes, with a fire burning underneath, had sparkled in the light. The way the light hit him perfectly made Mick melt, and Ketch was no longer himself. No, Mick had been graced with the presence of a god. (That couldn’t have been right. Ketch was too flawed.) Ketch was a modern Adonis, unbelievably beautiful. He was brilliantly handsome without the light, but it was… different, with the hue. Almost like he was a different person._

_Ketch seemed softer. The boy he knew was a borderline psychopath, but Mick loved him anyways. It’s not like Ketch manipulated him, or abused him, or made him do anything he didn’t want to do though. Ketch would never. If Mick wasn’t feeling up to it one night, he could just say “no”, and Ketch would stop. On the other hand, sure, Ketch was great to Mick (great being the understatement of the century), but he wasn’t so much to other people. That wasn't a side of Ketch that Mick ever saw, which he was grateful though._

Ketch squeezed his hand, and Mick was pulled out of his thoughts. They looked at what they were pretty sure was the other - it was difficult to tell in the dark, especially since the light wasn't reaching as far as Mick - and Ketch tried to apologize.

“Don’t worry, Arthur.”

He had seemed like some Adonis then, but now? He was more of an Atlas, holding a weight on his shoulders that Mick wanted to help hold. Ketch acted like Mick couldn’t. He was strong too; he went through the same training that Ketch did and everything. So why was Ketch so persistent on holding this weight alone? It astounded him.

\------

"You let your inner demons get to you more than you should." Ketch looked away from the stars, as if suddenly aware of Mick's presence. "Hm?" Mick chuckled. "I don't know what you dealt with, what with your parents and all, but you look different when you sleep." Ketch sat up a little. "How so?" He had a small amused smile on his face, but confusion still inflicted the expression. "I... I can't really explain it. You seem more peaceful; like you have something you're holding in, perhaps something you don't want me to know."

Ketch shook his head and started to protest but Mick grabbed his shoulder roughly (rougher than he intended). Ketch winced at the sensation of pressure on the closed wound. Mick saw his discomfort, and let his hands fall down by his lap. "How long have you known?" Mick sighed. "A while, actually. I would never have known, had Toni not made me aware." Ketch rubbed the gunshot wound. He felt incredibly tense and uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," he replied softly. "It wasn't your fault, love. I read the report, but I still want to talk about this. You were trying to keep this from me."

Ketch noticed the worry in Mick's eyes and looked away. It stung, especially since this amazing man had put up with so much. He hated worrying Mick, yet at the same time, that's all he seemed to do. "Yes. Of course, I was. I didn't think it really mattered-" Mick scoffed. "It didn't really matter? Fuck, Arthur, you would have died had that wound not been cauterized! Do you know how it feels, waiting during every hunt for Toni to text me saying, 'hey, the man you love with every fibre of your being hasn't died yet'? It's-" He was cut off by the sudden motion of Ketch's lips meeting his. He tensed up at first due to the shock of Ketch kissing him, but he soon relaxed in Ketch's arms. 

The brunette was the one to pull away, and he grinned at Mick. All Mick could manage was, "oh". Mick felt a little dazed, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. "What was that for?" Mick finally managed to say something, and Ketch laughed. "I had to calm you down somehow." 

Ketch left another kiss on Mick's lips. "We really do need to talk about this though," Mick murmured against Ketch's lips. "It was just a rogue operative, that's all. What is there to talk about?" Mick sighed. "The fact that you were trying to keep it from me." 

Mick realized that he was sitting on Ketch's lap at this point, and bit back a smile. Not yet; this was supposed to be a serious conversation. He set his forehead against the crook of Ketch's neck. "I know. I just didn't want you to worry. It will heal, and I'll be fine." Ketch's tone was assuring, but Mick couldn't just move on, not yet. "It'll scar though," he whispered, looking up at Ketch's face. 

Ketch was silent. He realized that it would scar soon after he'd gotten shot. It would just be a constant reminder of his failure, he thought. 

"I... I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize. There's no need for that." 

Ketch pulled Mick closer. "I love you." Mick smiled against Ketch's neck. "I love you too, mate."


	3. Two Hearts That Beat As One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is taken from Endless Love by Lionel Richie.
> 
> @me: Let's not write in AO3 again because you'll lose all of your amazing work
> 
> Oh dear I meant to make this a happy fic :'((((((
> 
> So the finished product was slimmed down a lot from the original; I want to maintain that good T rating, and the original was pretty dark s O  
> I mean  
> I'm not saying that it's not dark now  
> H m  
> Stick with T or make it M?  
> H M M  
> N a h it can't be that bad

_“It’s your fault, Arthur. It’s your fault I’m dead.”_

Those words- those _nine_ _words_ spoken in that beautifully familiar Irish accent had been haunting Ketch for over six months. After Mick’s death, they started repeating every time he closed his eyes. At this point, he wasn’t sure how much of it he could handle. (They’d never even been said by him; Mick never had. Not the _real_ Mick anyways.) On one hand, he had Asmodeus on his ass all the time about this and that - _“I own you”_ \- and the only time he could get away from the Prince of Hell was by sleeping, and he couldn’t even do that peacefully anymore.

It didn’t help that Asmodeus could see right through him and his little act.

He was such an idiot, wasn’t he? Bringing Gabriel to Sam and Dean was one thing; asking them to protect him was another. They didn’t trust him, understandably. (Well, he didn’t actually _fully_ understand, but he said he did for their sake.) Why should they protect him, after everything he’d done to them?

On the other hand… he had nowhere else to go. Asmodeus would most likely find him if he was hiding out in a motel somewhere. The bunker wasn’t necessarily a _safe_ place to go, but it was _a_ place to go. While Dean was off, trying to retrieve Mary and the nephilim from the other universe, he figured Sam would be trying to watch him like a hawk - especially since Sam was the one who protested against Ketch’s staying in the bunker.

But rather, Sam hadn’t been minding him all that much. His focus was on Gabriel, and the archangel’s recovery. After all, from what he knew of him, it must have taken a lot to have Gabriel in such a submissive state. The embarrassing talk he’d had with Asmodeus - after Asmodeus had beaten him into the ground, of course - only gave him a slight glimpse into what Gabriel must have felt. It was horribly degrading, especially with someone else in the room.

Ketch had been trying to redeem himself, and for what? No one would believe him, nor trust him. He couldn’t leave it like this until his inevitable death, could he?

Once Mary learnt of him being alive once more, she’d probably kill him again anyways.

He wanted to avoid that. The man didn’t necessarily want to become friends with the hunters, but if he could ally with them… that might be enough.

Perhaps he was destined for Hell eventually. He had made his decisions, and he couldn’t exactly undo what he’d already done. It was just a matter of getting the others around him to understand his pain.

That’s why Mick was so important to him. The man had always understood him, even in the hardest of times.

\-------------

Ketch hated brainwashing with a passion. Mary had gotten it easy, compared to everyone else that had been subjected to their experiments. The brainwashing serums and such never really set in until one reached a point that Ketch liked to call, the ‘breaking point’. The breaking point is when you truly understand what was happening to you, and how helpless you were, and you craved nothing but to be put out of your misery before you get lost to the British Men of Letters.

Reaching the breaking point had been humiliating enough, being pushed to such a point where he was sobbing on the floor-

_He couldn’t breathe, everything was closing in on him and blurring; the room was spinning, and here he was, trying to gasp for air that wouldn’t fill his burning lungs. The emotions that he’d been holding in for years was now coming out. His own crying was choking him and he couldn’t-_

Ketch had seen those tapes. The torture sessions he’d been through, he’d seen them. He remembered when Hess had called him into her office, and forced him to sit down and watch them.

The screams coming from her computer had been his own, and he’d wanted nothing more than to run out of the room. He only had to watch the first week, though. She was awful, but she wasn’t feeling wicked enough that day to force him to watch the worst sessions.

In order to reach the breaking point, according to the British Men of Letters, you had to be put through their special little torture sessions. The longer you lasted, the more pain they put you through. The first week had just been physical pain. By the second, he couldn’t move without a spike of pain running through him - so they moved onto psychological pain.

Arthur Ketch had lasted two and a half weeks; which was a record, considering he was only the age of seventeen at the time.

His loss of free will had sickened him. He didn’t have any control over anything. The thing that had sickened him most was knowing that he had almost killed Mick against his will.

 _He killed Mick later on with his own free will because the man_ asked _him to, he asked and Ketch complied and he had known better than to ever trust that witch-_

His heart was racing, like it was going to burst out of his chest. He couldn’t be doing this now. He was sitting up across from Charlie Bradbury, who he was letting sleep. He could tell she wasn’t asleep though, but she was pretending for him, since he was having a possible mental breakdown after all. That’s clearly what he wanted.

\-------------

Hess was smiling, and if Ketch had been able to move of his own accord, he would have smacked the cruel expression right off of her face. Instead, he was standing in front of Mick Davies, pointing a gun straight at his head because  she told him to. 

Mick would have taken a bullet for Ketch if it came down to it, and that’s partially why it hurt so much. The boy that Mick would have taken a bullet for was now the one standing behind the trigger.

Ketch could see the tears building up in Mick’s eyes, and deep down it stung. 

A look of determination crossed Mick’s face, and he grabbed the gun barrel. Intrigue and shock struck Hess’s face as he put it against his forehead. “Fine. Do what you have to. Arthur, if you can hear me… I just want you to know that I forgive you.” 

His voice didn’t waver like Ketch had expected it would. It was steady and quiet, and left Ketch with a sense of unease. Mick was courageous to the point of stupidity/

“Fine. Mister Ketch, shoot Mister Davies.” 

That could have been it. Ketch could have pulled the trigger and that would be that. But that’s not what happened.

Ketch was a good shot, and had killed people before. His weakness? He couldn’t look at them when killing them. Seeing all signs of life leave them wasn’t his thing. Perhaps he was a coward, like Antonia had told him. But he didn’t want guilt to plague him. He knew what happened to people who let their guilt and grief take over.

He started to look away, when Mick grabbed his face roughly. “If you’re going to kill me, you better look at me, you bastard.” Mick knew that Ketch wasn’t controlling himself right now, but he still had a right to be pissed. His boyfriend was pointing a gun to his head, free will or not. Ketch was forced to meet Mick’s eyes, and something in him realised exactly what he was doing.

He was a split second away from shooting this boy that he loved. 

He was sickened with himself, and the gun slipped out of his hand. It was Hess’s turn to look furious, since she had been certain that no one could snap out of the brainwashing. She kept rambling on about ‘that’s impossible’ and ‘how did you do that’, but Ketch wasn’t paying attention.

His heart moved in staccato beats, and his breath was short. The brainwashing process was bad, but this… he dared to say that this feeling hurt more.

He trembled and shook, and Mick’s hand moved away from his face - red marks were already apparent, though it didn’t seem that it would bruise over - to one of Ketch’s hands; the one that held the gun. Mick pulled him into a tight embrace, Hess and her opinions be damned. 

“I’m so sorry, Michael.”


End file.
